


Safe

by Splinter



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Comfort Sex, F/M, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 18:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12823308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splinter/pseuds/Splinter
Summary: Sometimes there’s that shaky moment after a fight, when there’s no more damage control to be done, nothing to stop her thinking. It’s then that the risk and the reality of it hits her.Fill for thesmutty_arts prompt challenge, inspired by the wonderfulyoukaiyume's NSFW art.





	Safe

The lift hasn’t even reached garage level when Furiosa sees Liz running to meet them. There are new dents on the side of the rig, but it’s the scrape on the plough that she’s looking at. That, and the scrap of Buzzard fender still hooked onto it. She’s checking over the rig now, counting crew. They’re all there, nobody lost, no serious injuries, though there will be a few bruises and scrapes.

“New plough did well,” Furiosa said. “Good work.” Liz nods, beaming. 

It’s the first time this rig has been through a full attack. Furiosa had driven two of the Buzzard cars off the road, then straight into another as its lancer had the thunderstick ready to throw. She’d got there just in time. The plough had held, the weight of the truck behind it smashing the spiked car into pieces, the spear dropped harmlessly in the dust. The Citadel crew had got off lightly, but that’s mostly because of good teamwork. She’s proud of them, proud of the blackthumbs’ work on the rig. Liz is already examining the plough, eyeing up the bashed fender for salvage. The shock of the impact is still buzzing under Furiosa’s skin, a threat averted by meeting it head on. 

Max is climbing out of the rig behind her, looping round the vehicle, an automatic check. Furiosa will go over it herself later, in detail, but Liz has earned first inspection. She knows Max has fallen in behind her as she heads out of the garage, though he makes no more noise than a shadow.

She wants to wash, to peel off her arm, to unbrace her bodice and breathe deeply until her heartrate sinks back to normal and the tightness leaves her chest. She doesn’t need to be steel any more, except sometimes she does. She’s no longer an imperator, but she still has crews to lead, a certain calm to project. Sometimes there’s that shaky moment after a fight, when there’s no more damage control to be done, nothing to stop her thinking. It’s then that the risk and the reality of it hits her. She’d hit the Buzzard, stopped the shot. One day, she won’t be so lucky. 

She rounds the corner into the stairwell, and Max is right behind her, arms wrapped around her, pulling her back against him and hanging on. His chest is heaving, the adrenaline of it working through him, too. She finds herself reaching for his forearm, fingers pressing into his wrist, letting him steady her. This is a risk, too. His breath is warm on her neck, his body solid against hers. The thunderstick had been aimed at his window.

They stand like that for a moment, clamped together, breathing hard. Then his mouth is on her shoulder, hot and wet. She can feel the heat of his skin, leather digging into her as he holds her tighter. It’s searing, her whole body drenched in want. Still gripping his arm, she reaches behind her with her metal hand, grabbing his buttock and pulling him closer. She knows he’s hard, knows it but wants to feel it, to feel his body responding to hers. Max is already undoing her leathers, pushing his hand inside.

They’re right at the foot of the stairs, not too busy at this time of day, but they’re bound to be interrupted here. His fingers are on her clit, his erection pressed up against her bum. She’s moaning, trying to smother it. Max pulls her back, walking her past the stairs into the storage space behind them. It’s little more than a corridor, barely private, but his mouth is still on her neck and his fingers are working and she doesn’t care.

When she comes, she’s noisy, jerking against his hand and sobbing, almost losing her balance. She’d fall if his arm weren’t still holding her up.

Almost before she gets her feet back under her, she presses back against him again. They’re both off balance, and he stumbles, leaning into the wall. She can’t tell if it’s deliberate, but he lets himself slide down, pulling her with him so she lands in his lap. It’s awkward, all bumps and slithering and jogged elbows. She ends up with her legs spread wide and her knees on the floor, with just enough purchase to keep grinding. 

Max is tugging at her leathers, trying to get them down. She kneels up and scrambles forward, pulling at her clothes, ripping off the gaiter she wears on her left calf. When she salvaged these pants, one leg was already cut shorter; she has to wear the gaiter to cover the gap. But it does make the trouser opening wide enough to ease over her boot. She doesn’t bother with the other trouserleg, leaves it trailing; it’s too much trouble when her body is making more insistent demands. She shakes off the memory of that Buzzard lancer, arm tensed and already moving back to throw the spear, goggled eyes targeting Max, the way time had gone slow and fast as she turned the wheel and floored the accelerator.

Behind her, Max is working on his own leathers, wriggling sideways to get away from the wall. She’s about to turn around, to climb onto him, but he won’t even wait for that: he grabs her, pulls her back into his lap. 

She’s trying to get herself lined up, half-discarded leathers flapping, her skin prickling at the weight and strength and eagerness of his hands on her. His cock is jabbing into her thigh, a smear of wet as it nudges hot across her buttock. They’re hasty and fumbling, taking forever to get into place, and then he’s properly between her legs and sliding into her. They both moan. 

It’s so much what she needs, the sense of being filled, of their bodies locking together. Her cunt is clenching, squeezing down on him, but her position is still wrong, spread across his knees and tipped back. Though she’s trying to lean into it, neither of them can get much movement. She tilts forward, rough rock under one shin and the creased leather of her pants under the other, grasping at his thigh to keep her balance. The changed angle is immediately better, pressing deeper and more urgently into her. Max grips her tighter, and lies right back. 

Her cunt pulses at it, at the way his cock jerks and drags inside her as he moves, his fingers digging into her hips to make sure he doesn’t slip out. Then he braces his feet and pumps up, and it’s like a flare of heat and light through her whole body. 

She’s whining and pushing back, still gripping his leg – she only just had the presence of mind to grab his uninjured right knee, she doesn’t think she could let go now if she tried. Max gets his shoulders planted and thrusts into her, again and again. The rhythm of it takes over, hard and frantic and unstoppable, wiping out everything beyond this cramped space and their needy bodies. She’s burning with adrenaline and lust and deferred fear. Every thrust is bringing her back to herself, reminding her that they’re alive and here, with his fingers bruising her hips and his cock deeper and deeper inside her. 

It’s rare for her to come without a touch on her clit, but she’s already shaky from her first orgasm, and so worked up that she finds herself tipping into a second, shuddering around him. She’s riding out the waves of it, slumped against his thigh, her breath coming in groans. She knows he’s about to come, can feel it in his breathing, in the pace of his hips. Then he grinds up so hard that he lifts her right off her knees, only her toes on the ground, held up on his cock. She’s impaled and twitching, dizzy with it, hanging in the air for the last of her orgasm and the start of his. 

By the time she finishes, she’s sprawled over his legs, splayed out and open with his cock still pulsing inside her. She can’t think beyond her next breath, and the next.

It's several breaths later when Max lets go of her hip, strokes a gentle finger across her lower back. She whimpers, hand still clutching his thigh. He’ll have bruises, too. She’s achy and spaced, her knees wobbly. 

Slowly, he sits up, holding onto her, keeping her steady in his lap. She doesn’t want to move, doesn’t know what to do with herself. He wraps his arms around her, giving little hums that are almost crooning, kissing her shoulder and her neck, wherever she’s bare. His hand is on her belly, stroking. His cock softens inside her, still pressing against her. For the first time, she notices how cold the storage room is, the chill of the uneven stone floor.

At last she shifts, ready to climb off him. He loosens his grip but keeps his hands on her, reluctant to lose contact, wanting skin on skin. She’s clumsy about moving. His cock slides out of her with a slippery noise and a gush of slick and come that starts dripping down her thigh. When she turns, her leathers tangle around her ankle.

Max is flushed and rumpled and earnest, watching her with unbearable concern. She gets back into his lap, her arms around his neck and her face in his shoulder. Her cheek is pressed against the pulse in his throat, his heart slowing to a strong, steady beat. She can feel the rumble of his hum as he pulls her closer, lets her hold him safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm at [lurkinghistoric](http://lurkinghistoric.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr.


End file.
